


I Will Dream I Was a Daughter

by delgaserasca



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delgaserasca/pseuds/delgaserasca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during 5.50. Ruth, Zaf; Ruth/Harry. "Easy, isn't it, to throw your whole life away."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Dream I Was a Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Denz for her beta help, and to the fandom at large for making Spooks fandom such a great place to be.
> 
> Written for Ceridwyn2

 

 

**I will dream I was a daughter**

 

And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee,  
or to return from following after thee: for  
whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou  
lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my  
people, and thy God my God:

Where thou diest, will I die, and there will  
I be buried: the LORD do so to me, and more  
also, if ought but death part thee and me.  
**King James Bible, _Ruth_ , 1:17-18**

* * *

"Easy, isn't it," she says, "to throw your whole life away." It isn't a question, and Ruth doesn't expect an answer.

Adam and Zaf exchange worried glances.  
  
  
  
  
  
Zaf takes her to the witness' home, and she feels it then, that pressure in her skull when she gets angry and tired and terrified all at the same time. "She's been bought," Zaf says; "she was one of the people who set you up," and the rage inside her bubbles up before being conquered by her fear. Zaf presses the gun into her hand, and lets her go. 

It is surprisingly easy to play the part; it is surprisingly easy to slip the bag over this stranger's head and the gun to her temple. It is surprisingly easy to speak and say what needs to be said. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into," Ruth yells at the woman, and she thinks to herself, _and I don't either, I don't, I don't._

She thrusts the gun back into Zaf's hands as soon as she meets him on the stair, and then they leave, quick march, back the way they came.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Are you cold?" Zaf asks, gentle, gentle, and she shakes her head, shivering and lying. She doesn't trust herself to speak. "Here," he offers her a can of coke, "drink this. Sorry, couldn't find you any tea." 

_How very English_ , Ruth thinks, _sweet tea_ ; she holds her breath and tries not to cry. Instead she takes the can and holds on tight. The city is still humming on her periphery, and she can smell the river behind her; she thinks about how much she loves London, and how much she loves her work. She thinks about what it is that she's leaving behind, and then she pushes all those thoughts aside. The can is cool to the touch, enough to make her hand hurt, but she doesn't let go. Just sits and waits; just sits and numbs herself as best she can. 

She doesn't think about tomorrow.  
  
  
  
  
  
_That stupid, stupid man_ , she thinks, and, _oh Harry, oh please, oh Harry_.  
  
  
  
  
  
It's difficult to sleep here, but she doesn't want to talk - doesn't trust herself, even with Zaf who she knows would never sell her secrets. Instead she closes her eyes and turns her face away, and thinks about the way the world works. She thinks maybe she'd become complacent, too happy almost; she thinks maybe this is her penance. 

She thinks of Offa of Mercia and wants to beat her hands against her skull - _how did I miss that?_ She doesn't remind herself of her self-doubt, of her conviction battling with Harry's assurances to the contrary. She doesn't think about how she second-guessed herself. 

Mostly, though, she thinks of Harry, and of how he came to her as soon as she called, and how he came to believe in her, despite his initial caution. She thinks of Tom Quinn and a long walk into a deep ocean, and she thinks of Zoe, and Danny, and Sam, and Fiona, and Colin, and she thinks, _oh god, it's me now, I'm next, what am I doing?_  
  
  
  
  
  
At about three in the morning, Zaf stretches his legs. Ruth keeps her eyes firmly shut and tries not to feel guilty.  
  
  
  
  
  
At about four in the morning her righteous indignation resurfaces. How dare they presume, she asks herself, how dare they even think to presume to act in this way on our behalf? She wonders about the cruelties the prisoners faced overseas; she wonders what would have happened if she hadn't gone searching for answers. She balances the comforts she is losing against the need for honesty, and her strength is renewed. 

What right does one person have to hurt another, even in the name of others? What right this service to act so against the interest of this nation? It's treasonous, she thinks, it's barbaric. How can they better their opponent if they use the same methods? _Animals, we're just vile, vicious animals._

Every time she feels her resolve slip, this is what she reminds herself: this is bigger than me. This is bigger than my comfort. This is the right thing to do.  
  
  
  
  
  
When the sun rises, it's time to face the day. The loneliness of what she is about to embark on hits her full square in the stomach. "How much longer now?" she asks Zaf. 

"Only a few hours." 

"And then?" 

"Then it's up to you." 

Zaf's voice is kindly in her ear. He must be freezing; his jacket looks paper-thin, and he's been sat here all night with her. Ruth can feel the damp seeping in through her clothes. It occurs to her that when he leaves, that will be the last time she ever sees him. Malcolm comes to mind, and she realises that she never had the chance to say goodbye to him, her dear, dear friend. She wonders if she should ask Zaf to pass on a message, but then remembers she's supposed to `die' some time in the next few hours. 

"If we ever bump into each other again," she starts, and then falters. "I know what you're trained to say, but if we do..." 

"I'll smile." 

"Promise?" 

And then he says the kindliest thing. "Of course. I smile at every pretty woman I pass."  
  
  
  
  
  
When he stands to leave, they hug, and Ruth holds his hand. "Tell Malcolm--" She shrugs awkwardly, and Zaf nods; he knows what to say. She is trying very hard now not to give in to her fear; she is trying very hard now not to let it show, but she never was very good at hiding what she thought. "I love this bloody job," she bites out, blinking rapidly against her oncoming tears. "This is the right thing, isn't it? Zaf? This is the right thing to do?" 

For a moment he looks as though he's going to say something, but then he squeezes her hand gently, and pulls away. And then he is gone, and Ruth is still there, and yet none of what she is remains.  
  
  
  
  
  
When Harry appears she doesn't know whether or not to be relieved, but then it doesn't matter anymore because now at least she can speak to him one last time. 

It is a moment which she will remember in detail for the rest of her life - the barge behind, and the tinge of petroleum in the air; the cold wind whistling over the river, and Harry, dear Harry, his sadness and his sweetness as he walks towards her. "Please don't say anything," she begs quietly, "just leave it as something never said." His face beneath her hands, and his hands hovering just above her elbows, her hips. "Let me go, Harry." 

She steps onto the barge, trying not to look back, but it's inevitable really; and she watches him as the distance between them grows further and further, until he's a dark stain on an else grey landscape, until he is just another mark on an indistinguishable shoreline, until he she cannot see him anymore. 

**end.**  
  


* * *

Oh, what a story;  
This is how they'll all remember me:  
We were the lucky ones that would survive the flood  
With potted flowers in our blood  
Pretending that we don't know where we bleed  
**from _I Was a Daughter_ by Basia Bulat**

* * *

**notes.** some dialogue lifted directly from 5.05.

 


End file.
